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Floke McBaine
In a Realm of Trees and Light Late in the year when the cold creeps under doors and hearths come alive to battle the coming of winter, Floke McBaine was born to a sailor and a sea witch. Containing no special powers or latent magic, he was learned in the arts of sailing. Quickly taking to controlling the wind with ease, Floke became a great smuggler, out-sailing ships far out of his class and with far more sail than he. Then, as dark days would fall across Eryndor and the ruler of Belegar, King Leechian, would become known as The Mad King, smuggling would become a dangerous job. As the lands of Eryndor would come together and unite to battle the spreading darkness, Floke would be captured and sold to the mad king along with his friend, Mathias, who taught him how to hammer steel and make metal sing. As the ancient necromancer Maegamarth soon took form, Floke would be sold and traded until finally be taken to a lab where, for four years, he would be tortured and experimented on within the tower known as Agarwaen Sarn. Given the curse of undying, he would be taken apart and taken to the edge of insanity before being brought back by the curse be felled upon him. As war tore across the land, fate befell him as two others were brought in, found scouting around the area. Two men clad in black and purple, Draven Bloodmoon and Dusthue Liadon. Bathed in Fire and Storm The four of them would work towards escape after hearing that they were to be sacrificed to be apart of a summoning ceremony of some great demon, Ashtdrok. after countless nights in what the black orcs called the Mind Butcher, they were finally brought to be sacrificed. “I have brought you here so that you may be taught what pain is. The four of you have not been tortured in vain. You are to be the final pieces in my ritual. For four years, countless lives have been slaughtered to come to this one moment in time. You three will not be killed, but traded directly for him. You will not even be here to see your friends die.” The warlock’s voice now becoming darker than ever began to chant again, the symbols began to spark with flames. Dusthue at last broke the silence of the tortured ones. “Who is it that we are being traded for? Where are you sending us as if our lives are simply worthless?” The warlock, without breaking concentration, spoke directly into the mind of the four. “You are being given up so that he may come up and lay ruin to this world. He is known as Ashtdrok, The Bone Demon. And you four, you are going to be put into hell, alive.” Draven yelled one final demand at his captor before a sinking feeling overtook him. “For all of our time and pain you have caused us, do us one favor. What is your name?” The warlock stopped his chanting and questioned back, unfamiliar as to why, before the moment of being thrown into hell, he would ask this above all other things. “Why is it that you want to know my name?” Draven looked the warlock directly in the eye and answered him with a voice that could echo off of the very mountains. “I want to know your name so that when we crawl out of hell, we can ask for you by name. After that, we will hunt you, we will find you, and then for every life that you took while we were imprisoned, you will die and be brought back to life, only to feel the agony of death again and again until finally, you will go to a place in hell that we set up just for you.” The warlock grinned and everything hushed around him. “ My name is Gaja Mundus, the Life Tyrant. And now, you will finally be shown how much power over your lives I have. The ritual is complete. You will now be put in hell to bring about the coming of the great Ashtdrok!” As he said this, the four could feel their legs being drawn down, getting hotter and hotter. From the center of the circle, a hand began to rise out of the flames, bigger than any giant they had ever seen. The fingernails on the hand were made out of human bone, bleached white by the flames of hell. His skin was made up of bodies sewn together, burnt red. With every inch they descended, another foot of this demon arose. With only the arm of the demon out of the hellgate, he reached up and grabbed at the chains that hung off of the ceiling, trying to pull himself out of hell. His hands pulled the chains out of the stone, sending them crashing to the floor. The 18 imprisoned sacrifices stood there, their minds overcome by Mundus’s spells. As the chains crashed onto the floor, they were awoken, only to see their leaders being dragged downwards and already knee deep. They each took out their shivs and began their work, hacking and slashing at their guard orcs. Mundus, now completely compelled at keeping the Orc blood and the human blood separate so the ritual could continue, could do nothing to stop them. Baring the doors with the pick axes they were forced to use, no other Orc could enter. Some of the imprisoned ran to pull up the four leaders, with no avail. The others went to work on the demon arm. Slicing into his fresh flesh, the metal burned deep while the ritual was not over yet. His arm fell upon two of the imprisoned, crushing and killing them instantly. As his face began to rise threw the portal, another one of their men jumped down, bringing his blade straight into the eye of the demon. All at once, the mouths of the bodies making up the skin of the demon let out a scream unlike anything ever heard on the Earth before. Everyone in the room fell to their knees, covering their ears from the sounds of horror. As the demon began to sink back into hell, so did the four begin to rise out of their prison. The stone beneath them began to crack as fire was spewed forth. They ran for their lives as the fire rose. Following Draven to retrieve their belongings, they took only what was needed. Floke took his glaive in hand and a very peculiar glass ball. Mathias grabbed his hammer and the remaining 16 went forth, hacking and slashing every Orc in their path. Draven lead on as the rest followed his lead, trusting his direction. The flames rose threw out the fortress as the bodies burned. They had finally reached the door out that lead to the river where a harbor lay. Before them stood Gaja Mundus, his black robes and burnt face twisted with anger. If they were to leave this place alive, they would have to get threw him. Standing, waiting for his challengers to come forward, he was met with what he wanted. Before him stood Dusthue, Draven, Floke, and Mathias, each standing ready to die before this foe in hopes of freedom for the rest. As they readied their weapons, Mundus’ hands seethed in flames. The four charged, fighting side by side as one. Mundus went to throw his killing blow as they charged, but as soon as it left his hand to obliterate them, one of the imprisoned jumped in the way and was instantly disintegrated. The four charged on, not letting their comrade die in vain. Floke’s glaive was first to pierce his skin, followed by Dusthue’s flail shattering his knee. Next was Mathias’s hammer, breaking his shoulder still in his socket. Finally, Draven’s blades found their marks, slicing into his skin as a butcher cuts meat. They stepped back and Mundus stood, motionless, but kept their weapons ready. Letting out a silent scream, Mundus vanished before them as the fortress began to shake. They kicked open the door and told everyone to run for the harbor. They looked in and saw everything burning, the evil being washed away in its own flames. Together, they left and forward they walked as the ruins lay behind them, still raging with fire. A sound like waves crashing upon the rocks was hear from within the fires. Behind them, a body, black from being chard, arose from the flames. The anger from within Mundus had kept him alive. Rising into the air, his body rose into the air, going up and up, shouting unheard curses. He turned to Belegar, home to his master, Maegamarth, and in an instant, he flew towards him at speeds unseen before. The four knew this would not be the end, that this was only the beginning. Maegamarth had made this personal, and it would not be forgotten by those that had lay witness to the horrors. Turning to the harbors, Floke’s ship stood tied up among the fleet of orc ships. As everyone boarded, it seemed as if every Orc had fled before them at the death of their master. The ship was in shambled, but was still able to sail. Onward, aboard his ship, they sailed to the isle hidden within the storm, guarded by his witch mother, to where Maegamarth could not find them. The four would become known as The Tortured and commanded what would become known as The Rising Storm. The Calm of the Storm and Flight of the Crow With the escape to the hidden island, word had reached that they were the final pieces in a last ditch effort to win the final battle of Eryndor. The next couple days, noticing something was missing. It was none other then the second moon which stood over the lands of Eryndor. With the moon destroyed, the storm began to dissipate. Magic Was no longer apart of Eryndor. The seas began to rise, drastically, with the moonfall. The Rising storm had to quickly abandon their island unless be swallowed by the sea. Escaping to the harbors of the Imperial Guard, they found safety as the fortress stood. With the loss of their island, the Rising Storm did not fair well and was dissipated. Finding comradery in a strange duo of a red goblin and a talking panda bear, together they formed the Order of the Crow. A group devoted to scouting out and finding artifacts and secrets left behind, still lingering with magic. With a Word and Fist With the forming of the Order of the Crow and readily available mass of water as the world was turned from continent to islands, the group would be able to move with ease under the sailing expertese of Floke. The Admiral of the Imperial Guard, Fenris Kelevra approached him, seeing if he was up to a task. He had heard the group was out to find artifacts, mixed with Floke's hatred of Demons, he saw this was perfect for him. A long forgotten ice demon, imprisioned by the ancient druid Raak, had begone to show itself. He had captured Raak's ship in a cave. Fenris wanted this ship of ancient lore, said to have books of knowledge and a storm elemental tied to it. In the process of the battle with the demon, Floke commanded that the Order of the Crow leave the demon, who was swarming them with unnumbered imps. Fleeing onto the ship, the demon saw as to their plans and had the imps steal the tomes of knowledge from the ship. As they sailed away, Floke couldn't help but think of this as a failure. Losing books that could bring magic back to the lands of Eryndor was a huge blow. Fenris saw it as a victory, with the addition of a new war ship to his fleet. Taking it as his, he learned the stories were true. The ability to call upon a storm set upon your foes in the heat of battle was a victory. Below deck within the holds of the ship, Floke found a peculiar mask made of teeth and metal. As he adorned the mask, his eyes darken and a voice entered his head. Floke had found the artifact Mouth of Gods, allowing powerful beings to enter his mind and speak threw him. As the voice over took him, Floke became the Hand of Raak and this, became a disciple with a staff made of the Black Tree. A New Voice One day, Floke awoken to a room filled with smoke and the distinct smell of yeast. He had been to almost all the bars and taverns in Eryndor, but this, something smelled different. The air was sweeter, smelling newer even with the taint of smoke around him. Feeling the mask was no longer about him, he looked up and saw Fenris standing over him, surrounded by that of Pogo and Toki, along with faces he didn't recognize. On the wall a symbol of a mug, dripping with blood. His eyes cut threw the haze, focusing on Fenris. "You're awake. Good. Welcome to Lancerus."